


at this moment you mean everything (my thoughts i confess verge on dirty)

by coffee_music_books



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Andras gmsfu - Freeform, Dom you multitalented angel from heaven, F/F, Poor thing, and that's it, because they're always getting interrupted - Freeform, but babygirl WORKS it, but i digress, cheerleader!Waverly, either way she's a star and deserves all of the awards, in over her head!Nicole, or vixen from hell, smh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-11-18 08:29:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11287509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffee_music_books/pseuds/coffee_music_books
Summary: You don't know what you were expecting when you got Waverly's text.ORBasically a re-imagining of the cheerleader scene with context, and what the hell could possibly have been going on in poor Nicole's mind.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Wynonna Earp or anything, but this episode totally jumbled my life and got me out of my writer's block so thanks i guess?
> 
> title taken from "Come on Eileen" by Dexys Midnight Runners (but I messed with the order of the lines kinda)
> 
>  
> 
> potentially going to add a second chapter but it's 2am so i haven't written anything more. lmk if i should continue (but it would most likely change the rating to a more mature level)

You don't know what you were expecting when you got Waverly's text.

 

_come over i have a surprise! ;)_

 

And that's it. You'd asked her  _what is it babe?_  and sent the obligatorily coy  _:):):)_ but Waverly was nothing if not devious. She deliberately ignored your questions, opting not to respond. You wracked your brain the whole drive over, worried you missed some obscure holiday or milestone.  

 

Well, whatever your anxious mind was able to come up with, nothing compared to this.

 

Waverly answers your knocks--  _tap tap taptap tap_ , the same pattern every time -- and she's dressed in-

 

-well she's  _not dressed_ , but-

 

Cheerleader. She's in a cheerleading uniform. She's practically naked, and she's smiling sweetly at you like she always is. There are pom poms in her hands, shiny and blue and swishing as she shakes them. She's wearing her whole-face smile, and you forget how to breathe.

 

Your eyes follow the lines of her hair, take in her uniform and high socks-- _high socks_ \--and her bright, nervous smile over her moving lips.

 

Shit. She's talking. 

 

"W-what?" you stutter, shaking your head and blinking. "Sorry, Waves. What did you say?"

 

She seems to feel a little better in light of your stumble. Your cheeks burn, but her shoulders relax the slightest bit, and you're happy you're able to calm her nerves, though you're still confused and aroused and barely paying attention. You manage to pull it together enough to tune into her words somewhere  _in medias res_.

 

"--big announcement or something at the school today, and it got me thinking. I never told you, I guess, but I used to be head cheerleader when I was in high school--"

 

"Wait." You cut her off. "Head cheerleader?"

 

Her smile wobbles and dims. "Yeah. Is that weird?" She looks distraught, and it isn't helped by your shocked, barking laugh.

 

" _Weird_?" You shake your head slowly, back and forth, twice. "Waverly, head cheerleaders are hot, and cool, and popular. How is that _weird_?" You remember high school, and though the head cheerleader when you were a senior was bitchy Rebecca Brooks, you'd be lying if you said you didn't have the  _slightest_ crush on her.

 

Waverly smiles, giggles nervously under her breath. She's still fumbling at the beginning of what you two have, but her bravery is as alive and present as it always has been, despite everything. Usually, she's the same warm, bold, open person you fell for in the empty bar. She's like that now, but with the edge of sexiness that you're still adjusting to. She's forward and unashamed about her attraction to you, and it's overwhelming in the best possible way.

 

"Well, I was thinking," Waverly says, voice taking on that devious lilt. There's a twinkle in her eye that screams hunger, and she matches your gaze with dominance. You gulp. "I might remember one or two of my old routines." She shrugs, looking down and away from you, suddenly timid again. You know she's full of it. She knows  _exactly_ what she's doing, and what it's doing  _to you_. "Would you want to see them?" She looks up at you through her eyelashes.

 

Your brain short circuits, but your body knows how it feels about Waverly, watching Waverly and wanting Waverly. You think you nod or grunt out a  _yes_ but you're not entirely sure which it is. You don't spend too long trying to figure it out because Waverly picks up her phone and taps once and there's music. And suddenly she's moving. 

 

And you've forgotten how to breathe.

 

Her movements are sharp and fluid at the same time, with expert precision. She didn't just 'randomly remember' these routines. These are rehearsed and polished, with years of hard work and discipline. Her body is comfortable and poised and strong in it's movements, hitting the twists and pumps, rolls and crumps with conviction and practiced ease.

 

Waverly doesn't break eye contact with you once. She twirls and flips her hair and pumps her arms, all the while staring at you like she knows exactly what's happening in your body. Which, in all fairness, she probably does. You can't look away, and your eyes struggle to take in all that she is, from her beautiful face and hair for days to that little patch of skin between her uniform top and skirt. You see her abs flex and occasionally, some of her ribs will poke into her skin. 

 

It crosses your mind that Waverly must be used to attention like this in that outfit. Waverly is far from self-centered, but she's not dumb. She knows she's pretty, knows that people look at her when she walks by and linger on her as she walks away. She pays little mind to the opinions of the people in town because she's so used to them. But with you, she hangs on every action, every word and reaction. Every sped heartbeat and short breath and dry swallow she basks in.

 

She wears that cute little smirk on her face through the whole routine, and wraps it up with a blushing 'goooo devils!' and signature Waverly giggle. And then she does nothing.

 

You realize too slowly that she's waiting for a reaction. "Wow," you force out, though your voice feels foreign in your dry throat. You blink for what must be the first time in several minutes.

 

Waverly smiles and shrugs, turning to drop her pom poms and pause the music on her phone. "I-I didn't know if it was your thing." She's shy again, all of a sudden. It never ceases to amaze you how Waverly can perpetuate these two beings: confident, sexy, I-don't-give-a-rat's-ass-what-you-think badass, and timid, slightly-awkward, I-need-support-from-you-to-move-forward-please-don't-reject-me baby girl that Wynonna must still see when she looks at her (but you really don't want to think about Wynonna right now). 

 

Watching Waverly dance sets your insides on fire, but you're not quite sure how to say that without sounding like a horny teenager. "Uh, baby, that's--that's everyone's thing," you go with. You're gripping onto your belt tightly, floundering for something to calm the racing in your ears and the ache in your belly.

 

Waverly smiles ever brighter at your reaction. "Yeah?"

 

You nod emphatically. "Yeah!" And then jealousy seizes your tongue as you remember the announcement and celebrations coming up at the high school. It's homecoming season. You guess Waverly's showing you what she plans to perform there. "Those cross-eyed hooligans at the homecoming game are gonna love it." The thought of horny teenagers undressing Waverly with their eyes makes you uncomfortable and cranky. You try to keep your face passive, but Waverly can read you no matter what.

 

And Waverly brightens, for some reason. "No, silly," she says, walking towards you. She wraps a hand around the back of your neck as soon as she's close enough, playing with the ends of your newly cropped hair. She looks up at you through her eyelashes and smiles her sexy, lopsided grin. "No, this is..." she pauses, voice light and airy, "a private show for you." She forces a pout then, and you feel your cheeks warm. "Before you have to go off on patrol." Her voice sours at the mention of your job, and though you love being a cop, in this moment you're inclined to agree with the resentment.

 

You shrug, grin dripping with sarcasm as you list off all of the reasons Nedley is interfering with your dating life by keeping you on shift. "So it's all hands on deck," you say as you lean your forehead down into Waverly's. She rubs your arms over your uniform sleeves, and you feel your skin come alive and nerves dance beneath all of the fabric. Goosebumps that you know she can't feel pebble on your skin, but you think she knows what she's doing to your body anyway. Your fingertips seek out the strip of skin on her back that her uniform leaves exposed, and she shivers.

 

"Hmm," she says, feigning deep thought for a moment. "You guys need more hands." Waverly's hands tighten on your arms, pulling you in. Her face draws ever closer, smile loving and bright and sexy. "So that yours can stay right here on me." Her eyes narrow deviously and she tangles the fingers of her left hand in your hair over the back of your neck before leaning up to kiss you deeply. You feel it all the way down to your toes.

 

Waverly pushes you back with a smile and hushed  _okay_ before launching into another routine. She kicks so high--she's so  _flexible_ \--and you see that she isn't wearing any  _underwear_ \--

 

\--and so does Wynonna, who's just burst through the front door with a gun and shriek. Your body turns to ice, and as soon as you can you bolt out the door, promising to see Waverly later.

 

As you walk back to your car, you replay Waverly's dancing in your mind and you smile, feeling warm all over, and looking forward to seeing how  _flexible_ she is later, in your apartment. With no Wynonnas to interrupt you.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The scene we were missing; nay, the scene we deserve!

You're in so much trouble.

 

After everything with the marziniok-- _marzipan_ \--Waverly insisted on repeating her homecoming performance. She'd texted you to come over, she has a surprise for you, bring your winning personality and gorgeous smile.

 

And your handcuffs.

 

You had no hope of getting work done after those texts came through, but you struggled valiantly anyway. The third time you stapled your sleeve to a stack of papers, Nedley dismissed you. So you hopped into your cruiser and drove straight to the Earp homestead.

 

You've been sitting in the driver's seat staring at the front door as though you can see through it for 12 minutes now. You're trying to calm your racing heart and shallow breath and dry your sweaty palms against your thighs when Waverly's head pokes out the front door. "Nicole! Get your hot ass in here!"

 

Your body responds immediately, however uncoordinatedly it is. Waverly is still trying to stifle a giggle at you bonking your head on the roof of the car by the time you're walking up the porch steps.

 

She lets you in the front door an closes it behind you. When you turn to face her, you see she's back in her cheerleading uniform. You glance at the skirt, wondering if she's wearing underwear under it this time, and your tongue runs dry and chalky. You gulp, and she smirks.

 

Waverly walks into your personal space slowly, eyes narrowed and shoulders straight. This morning her confidence was belied by the nerves in her eyes; but now, now that she knows what seeing her like this does to you, she's all sexy self-assuredness. She reaches to your hip and you hear the jingling chains of your handcuffs as they come loose from your belt. With her other hand, Waverly presses into your lower belly, pushing you backwards into the living room.

 

"Uh," you say, walking backwards with Waverly and unsticking your heavy, dry tongue. "Where's Wynonna?" Your voice is shaky and hoarse, and you'd be embarrassed about how transparent you are if you had the mental faculties available to realize.

 

Waverly smirks again, holding your handcuffs up with one finger. "Banished to Shorty's until further notice. Now," she responds, matter-of-fact. She pulls the handcuff key off of your belt with her free hand and gives you a blatant once over. "Assume the position, Officer Haught." 

 

You're confused.

 

Waverly rolls her eyes at you, exasperated. "Turn around and give me your wrists," she whispers harshly. 

 

"W-uh, why?"

 

Waverly shifts her weight to one leg and rests her hands on her hips. She looks more than a little bit frustrated with you. "Nicole," she husks, voice deep and eyes narrow, smoldering. "I'm about to do really, really sexy stuff. Do you want to keep asking questions right now, or will you let me put handcuffs on you because it turns me on?"

 

You gulp, spinning around so quickly that you stumble. You thrust your hands backwards to her, and you can imagine the self-satisfied quirk of her lips. Waverly clips the handcuffs on your wrists slowly, if only just to tease you that little bit more. You can feel the heat of her body with how close she's standing and your fingers twitch.

 

When the handcuffs are secured and Waverly seems satisfied, she runs her hands up your forearms and back down. You can her her shallow breathing if you listen hard enough. Your fingers graze butter-soft skin, and your cheeks flame as you try to figure out  _where_ it is that you just touched her.

 

Waverly lets go of your arms and walks around your body. She's still in your personal space, and you're cursing the heavy thickness of your uniform. You wish you could shift and feel any part of Waverly's skin if you wanted to. You can smell Waverly's fruity shampoo and floral perfume and see the shiny vanilla-bean chapstick as it catches the light on her lips. The littlest details are so apparent and invading all of your senses--well, except for taste.

 

For now.

 

Waverly takes your cuffed wrists in one hand and rests the other on the small of your back, leading you to the living room couch. She turns, pulling you still, so that the cushions tap against the backs of your knees as you bump the couch. Then, she unceremoniously pushes your chest and you land heavily against the cushions. Waverly leans forward, resting her palms, warm and solid, against the tops of your legs. Her lips are so close to yours, a curtain of long, wavy hair falling over one of her shoulders. You scan her perfect face, her beautiful devious face, as she slowly licks her lips.

 

You forget how to breathe.

 

"Ready?" Waverly asks, voice husky and low. You can see a confidence behind her eyes at your every reaction. It's heady and potent and your skin twitches beneath the fabric where her hands are resting still. You tug sharply on the cuffs, experimentally testing their give. You're not going anywhere, you realize, and Waverly grins wickedly when she hears the telltale jingle of the metal.

 

You're in so much trouble.

 

Waverly steps back and reaches towards the coffee table.

 

Then there's music playing, and Waverly starts to move. She's not holding pom poms now, so she's free to run her fingers through her own hair as she raises her arms. She was sexy before, yes--that's just a matter of pure fact. But now, with the day over and Wynonna mercifully gone, with you and the beautiful gift of time--

 

Well, you're in  _trouble_.

 

She's writhing and twisting and bending in ways you didn't know people could _actually_ bend. Your body is heavy and thick and hot watching her move, and being held back by  _your own handcuffs_ is its own sweet, sweet torture. It feels like every nerve is alive and, like a flower to the sun, yearning towards Waverly. You're so lost in watching her that you tug your arms to reach for her, and the metal of the handcuffs bites into your wrists.

 

You'd wince if you were paying attention to it, and in the very, very back of your brain, you're probably hoping you don't have bruises tomorrow to explain.

 

Or maybe you're hoping you do. You don't care.

 

Anyway.

 

The song ends, and the low thrum of bass from the next one on her playlist is humming in the room. Waverly is bent at the waist, folded like a piece of paper with her fingertips grazing the floor, facing away from you. Her teeny tiny skirt is all you can really see above the expanse of smooth olive skin. She snaps back up, rolling her body through it. You watch her fingers as they reach up to the middle of her back, just below her neck, and pull down in a line.

 

Oh, good God.

 

Waverly's--

 

\--she's--

 

\--and--

 

\--the top of Waverly's uniform flutters to the ground next to Waverly's foot.

 

You can see, from the unmarred skin stretching across her back, that Waverly isn't wearing a bra (which, if you'd been paying more thought to anything besides  _Waverly_ and  _topless_ , seems really uncomfortable; but Waverly, bless her heart, is nothing if not determined).

 

 _That_ is when you snap. (You're surprised you lasted this long.)

 

"Waverly," you manage. Your throat is dry and your tongue is heavy, so you're surprised it even sounds like English. 

 

"Yeah?" she calls, voice innocent and light. The devil she is, she turns her face over her shoulder and sweeps her hair back. It falls over her back in soft waves, and you think she looks like a mermaid.

 

"Wave." You can't seem to think or say anything besides her name. You lick your lips.

 

Waverly moves like a panther, slowly, all curves and sultry confidence. You wouldn't call it swagger--swagger is too stilted and plain. Waverly isn't--she's--

 

\--not that.

 

She turns to face you, reaching to sweep her hair to one shoulder. She takes a few slow-- _so slow_ ,  _deliberately slow_ \--steps forward, towards you, and leans down to rest her hands on your thighs.

 

"See something you like, Officer?" she asks, coy. You're starting to sweat.

 

And you finally gain some semblance of control over your tongue again. "Let me loose." Your voice is low, almost threatening, and you must sound sexy because you watch her eyes dilate. The amber in her irises glows just so, and she looks positively devilish.

 

"Or what?" It's a challenge, clearly, and you play into her hands like putty.

 

"Waverly, unlock these, please," you say, desperate. If you whine a little, well, it's understandable by now. 

 

Waverly grins. "Begging so soon, hm?"

 

You narrow your eyes, leaning closer to her face. Your faces are fewer than four inches apart, and you watch her eyes flick down to your lips, expecting you to kiss her. 

 

Ah, so the tables have turned.

 

You lean closer still, parting your lips just enough, the way you would if you were about to kiss. Waverly leans into it, however imperceptibly, and you pull away a the very last second, breathing hot air over her lower lip. "I'll show you begging," you whisper, looking from her lips to her eyes.

 

The growl that comes from Waverly's mouth is positively  _feral_ , and she shoves you back into the cushions  _hard_ before climbing into your lap. She pushes into you so that your arms are trapped between you and the back of the couch. One of your wrists is bent at an awkward angle, but she's not heavy enough against you to push it too far.

 

Waverly plants a bruising, crushing kiss to your mouth, humming against you and running her fingers through your short hair. She nips at your lower lip and runs her tongue over the bites to soothe. You pull your head backwards and lean as Waverly settles solidly against your legs. "Let me out, baby," you say, voice teasing and confident and challenging.

 

Waverly smirks, drawing her hair into one hand and twisting it over her shoulder. You glance down at her bare chest and lick your lips, pressing a kiss to her exposed collar bone. And then another. And then another. Waverly sighs and wraps an arm around your shoulders. "Not yet."

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Waverly has been perched on your lap long enough for your toes to start tingling and going numb. (To be honest, though, Waverly is sitting topless in your lap, that probably would've happened anyway.) 

 

You flex your thigh muscles and shift, and Waverly's body is lifted slightly. She tries to adjust without pulling her lips on yours, loosening her hold on your shoulders. One of her hands is wrapped around the back of your neck while the fingers of her other hand are tangled in your cropped hair. She's scratching at your scalp softly, humming against your lips and squealing when she feels her body move.

 

With a  _pop!_  Waverly pulls away, settling more solidly in your lap and leaning to look you in the face. "Getting bored, Officer Haught?" she teases, grinning and wiping her lower lip with her thumb.

 

 

You're breathing heavily, shifting and trying to roll your shoulders. You lick your lips and look on, self-satisfied, as Waverly watches your tongue with rapt attention. The hottest thing about this Waverly, this carefree, sexy, joyful Waverly, is that she's open and honest about how she feels about your every single reaction. You don't hide anything from her, reinforcing her choices and desires and playing into all of them and thirsting for more.

 

You  _are_  reaching your limit though.

 

You lean forward, careful not to push Waverly backwards off your lap. You softly run your nose up the length of her neck, pressing a kiss as high up as you can reach. You still don't have use of your hands, and you try to make due without being able to pull her body into you.

 

You kiss up Waverly's neck further, letting your tongue slip out through your parted lips and taste her skin, salty with sweat from dancing and desire. Waverly leans into your body, balancing her weight against your shoulders through her forearms. Her fingers rewrap themselves around the back of your neck and she scratches against your skin softly in circles, that way you love.

 

She hums as you lick a hot stripe up her throat, rumbling low in her chest, and she squeals when you bite sharply at the base of her jaw. You flick your hair out of your face with a quick jolt of your head and switch to the other side of Waverly's neck.

 

"Baby," you mumble, hot air blowing against Waverly's skin. You watch with fascination as goosebumps erupt across her skin and chase them with your lips, kissing from the base of her neck to her jaw. "You know you could let me out of these," you singsong.

 

Waverly hums but shows no intention of moving. She seems lost in sensation, reveling in your lips against her neck and her body solidly in your lap. She's pressing her body further into you, holding less weight up with her knees and forcing her chest against you. 

 

You can finally reach higher on Waverly's neck, and you lean up and strain just enough so that you can nibble on her earlobe. Waverly grunts, pressing further into you and bending her torso so you can reach better. "I could make you feel  _really_  good, Waves," you whisper, lips grazing the shell of her ear.

 

Waverly groans, pulling back again to look at your face. She pouts, but her pupils are still blown and her cheeks are flushed. You can't imagine what you must look like right now, with kiss-swollen lips and wild, desperate eyes. Your hair feels loose the way it does when Waverly runs her fingers through it, frizzy and out of control and, you admit, sexy as hell. 

 

"This is no fair," Waverly mumbles, struggling openly to look away from your mouth. She purses her lips further, somehow looking adorable and sexy at the same time in that unfair way she does. "I was supposed to be teasing  _you_." She grins around her pout, and you smile because, well,  _Waverly_.

 

You shrug, feeling her fingers move against your skin. "And you can, baby," you say, leaning closer to her lips again. "Later. But right now, let me out of here." You feel Waverly hesitate as you kiss her, her resolve cracking and crumbling. "Unlock the 'cuffs," you drawl, smile wicked. You look up at Waverly through your eyelashes, forcing eye contact, as you say, "and I'll show you what the cheerleading made me want to do to you."

 

Waverly eyes you, contemplative. She scans your face and seems to weight the options, pros and cons. You can see the gears turning in her head.

 

But she's taking too long.

 

 

You press forward, kissing her breastbone and maintaining eye contact. You suck the skin the tiniest bit and taste it with your tongue. You leave a trail of open-mouthed kissed leading to the part of Waverly's chest where her left breast begins to slope and swell. The skin is soft and pliable, has more give, and you suck lightly against it, grazing it with your teeth.

 

You're still looking Waverly in the eyes, smiling just enough so you can feel your dimples cratering your cheeks. Waverly's jaw drops, eyes clouding and glazing as she watches you. You pause, glancing at her chest where you can feel her heart hammering away. You press a lingering, innocent kiss over her heart and hear her whimper, a light gentle sound that makes you stop and smile.

 

You move lower and suck her nipple into your mouth, looking back into her eyes.

 

Then Waverly snaps.

 

She tosses her head back and groans, arching her back and shifting her hips against you. Your teeth gently scratch against her in your mouth, and she squeals and shoves your shoulders. You bounce against the pillows and backbone of the couch, and your arms ache. Your eyes refocus to see Waverly scuffling over to the coffee table and retrieving the key to your handcuffs.

 

You lean forward and shuffle to the edge of the couch so that Waverly can reach behind you and undo the handcuffs. She walks over to you and leans so that her bare torso is resting against your shoulder. All you see is her high socks and cheerleading skirt, and though it's still ridiculously sexy, you can't help but stifle a giggle because, well,  _Waverly_. 

 

You hear the telltale  _click_  and then the handcuffs come loose. Waverly takes them and places them gingerly on the coffee table, and you pause to rub your achy wrists for a moment. Then you remember that Waverly is standing in front of you, half-naked and turned-on so much that she forewent one of her plans for you.

 

You stand up quickly, giving Waverly a mere small handful of seconds to react before you're scooping her up against you're body. You press a kiss against her mouth  _hard_ , all lips and tongue and teeth, as she wraps her legs around your waist and her arms around your shoulders. She threads her fingers through your hair and hums into your mouth as you take a step.

 

You want to be ambitious and carry Waverly to her bedroom. But you'd have to go up those creaky stairs carrying her small but, albeit, solid body. (She's tiny and thin, but she's all strength and lean muscle and carrying her up a set of stairs feels daunting.) Instead, you turn and lay her gently down on the couch where you'd been sitting, torturing yourself watching her.

 

Waverly lays against the pillows and pulls you onto her body immediately. Her legs squeeze around your hips as you settle your weight on top of her. You rest one of your elbows in a couch cushion and use it to distribute your body so you aren't crushing Waverly beneath you, and use the other hand to rub up her thigh, hip, and side.

 

Waverly hums as you rub over her ribs and shoulder and down the length of her arm. You press your palm against her ribs below the underside of her breast and feel the muscles twitch beneath her butter-soft skin. You feel her ribcage stretch as she inhales into another kiss, biting down on your lower lip softly. Your body reacts and tightens, your fingers bending into her fleshing and she squeals, shifting away from you as much as the couch and your body will allow.

 

 

You pull your hand away and lean out of the kiss, grinning sheepishly at Waverly and opening your eyes. Her cheeks are flushed and her hair is flowing beautifully behind her head. Her lips, kiss-swollen and shiny, are stretched into a self-conscious smile. "Sorry," you say, your voice breathy, and you lean in to taste her smile.

 

"'S'okay," she murmurs.

 

You lean around her head and nudge her cheek with yours as you try to fit your face into the space between her jaw and shoulder. You kiss a line down her neck and bite into the muscle at her shoulder. You manage to avoid the few bruises that are already littered there, red and purple against her olive skin. 

 

Waverly grunts, wrapping her arms around your shoulders and pulling. She angles her head away desperately to give you more space, and you feel her fingernails dig into the skin over your shoulder blades. You shift so that you can settle one of your legs in between hers and press down. 

 

" _God, Nicole_ ," she rasps. Her voice is harsh and hoarse, and she's pulling against you and digging into you with every available limb. One of her feet rubs down the back of your calf as she shifts her hips, trying to grind against your leg.

 

You smirk against her skin and pull your leg back just slightly. "Ah, ah, ah," you say, voice melodic and teasing. "Patience, baby."

 


	4. Chapter 4

Waverly groans, low and guttural and frustrated. You're smug; she made you wait, after all.

 

Your lips are soft, pillow-soft, against her skin. Your kisses are sweet and fleeting and gentle like a light breeze. Your upper body is resting comfortably on Waverly, and you've angled so that your legs and hips hover above hers. Waverly is shifting and squirming beneath you, struggling to find purchase and friction, whatever slight release she can get to.

 

You're not so friendly.

 

You play dumb, wrapping her frustration around her so it's the only thing she can think about. Your body is desperate, but less so than hers, and you begin to realize just what dancing for you did to her. You love it. 

 

"What do you want, baby?" you murmur into her hear. Your lips graze the ridges and ripples in her skin, and you reach with your tongue to taste it. Waverly gasps as she feels the hot wetness, and her fingers dig into your back, pressing you ever closer.

 

"Come  _on_ , Nicole," she whines, and you shrug against her. Her voice has a distinct pout in it as she says, "I danced for you. Give me  _anything_."

 

There is a spot on Waverly's neck, about an inch and a half below her ear, that makes her knees buckle and draws a keening cry from her throat. When she's warm and sleepy against your body at night in bed, you drop a kiss there sometimes to feel her shudder and tremble against you. 

 

You lave your tongue over that spot and suck the skin lightly into your mouth.

 

Waverly angles her head to give you more space and presses her neck further into you. " _Please_ ," she whines desperately, voice raising in volume and pitch and right next to your ear. You release a breathy laugh and bite down lightly. 

 

Waverly squirms against you when you laugh and you're momentarily distracted. She's still not wearing a shirt and she's managed to open yours up further, pulling the buttons until they give. Her skin is soft and warm and just a little bit sticky against yours. You look down your bodies and see how well you two fit together and a warm, comfortable feeling settles in your chest.

 

She shifts again beneath you, squirming, and you watch her abs flex and roll beneath her skin. You slide down Waverly's body, transfixed, ignoring the inflected questioning noise she releases. You don't stop moving until you're eye-level with the bottom of her rib cage. Your hands settle on her sides, framing her belly button with your thumbs, and you place a soft, lingering kiss on the ridge between her upper abdominal muscles.

 

Waverly keens, body arching and stretching and hands pushing on your shoulders to pull you more flush against her. She whimpers, and when you glance up at her face through your eyelashes, you see that her head is thrown back. She takes a deep breath in and you see her ribs poke through her skin with suck force that you can even see where her sternum ends. You place a kiss at the base of it and lick a hot trail down the center of her stomach, dipping your tongue into her belly button. Waverly's muscles jump and twitch--she's ticklish--and you give her a comforting squeeze.

 

You leave a circle of kisses around her belly button and Waverly grunts long and low and deep. " _Uuuugh_ , come  _on_ , Nicole."

 

You rest your chin on her lower belly. "What do you need, baby?"

 

She trembles, just so, and you grin. "You know what I need," she says with a pointed look. 

 

You sit up and rest on your knees, settling your weight against your heels. You pull your uniform shirt off and undo your belt, resting it gently on the coffee table. All the while, Waverly is watching you, propped up on her elbows and still gloriously topless. You reach down and fiddle with a loose thread at the top of her knee-high socks before smirking, looking Waverly dead, in the eyes, and saying, "Well, why don't you spell it out for me?"

 

Waverly furrows her brow, a clear challenge. Neither of you has blinked, and there is tension thick and electric in the air. Waverly's perfect hazel eyes--now they're more brown, you love that they change color--darken and bore into yours. "Nicole," she starts, voice deep and very, very slow. "My house is empty right now. We have no idea how long that's going to last, and I'd rather not waste time  _convincing you_ to make me forget my own name."

 

Your cheeks flush and the tips of your ears burn. Your smirk deepens and you feel your spine shudder. Waverly is authoritative but calm and it's the sexiest thing you've ever seen. You rise and stand next to the couch, reaching a hand out to pull Waverly up. She looks from your outstretched fingers to your face, and you shake your hand once in front of her. "Take it," you insist. Wordlessly, she obeys, and you pull her so she's standing in front of you. You open the button to your khakis and pull down the zipper and kick off your work shoes. 

 

Waverly understands quickly. She shimmies her skirt over her hips and down her body as your khakis fall to the ground. As you step out of your pants--which you  _hate_ \--Waverly reaches to pull off one of her socks. "No," you say abruptly, reaching out a hand to stop her. "Leave the socks on."

 

Waverly lets out a shocked laugh, looking at you with wide eyes. But she leaves the socks on.

 

You reach out and pull her towards you with and hand around her waist. You love seeing the contrast, her olive tan and your flushed paleness against it. Your skin seems to glow against hers, and it makes you feel like, together, you're more beautiful.

 

Waverly follows your momentum and presses every available inch of her skin against you. You still have your bra on and the soft satin rubs against Waverly's flushed skin. You swing your body and pull Waverly around so that you can shove her into a sitting position on the couch. She falls gracelessly with a surprised look on her face, and you bend down to kiss it off of her.

 

On your knees in front of Waverly, you're struck again with the thought of how  _beautiful_ she is. You pick up her foot in your hand and massage the arch of it over her sock, and Waverly groans, letting her head fall back against the couch cushions. Her knees relax and fall imperceptibly further apart, and her fingers dig into the cushions underneath her. 

 

"Waverly," you call, getting her attention.

 

She raises her head, and you see she's closed her eyes. "Hm?" she responds without opening them.

 

"Do you have any idea," you begin. You pause to drop a kiss to the middle of the arch of her foot, firm enough so she can feel it through the knit of her high sock, and say, "just how sexy you looked dancing before?"

 

"Mm-mm." Waverly doesn't look at you, and you kiss her ankle bone, the inside of her calf, the seam of the sock right below her knee.

 

"And do you have any idea how  _jealous_ I get thinking that other people,"  _Champ_ , you don't say, though the disgust flares in your chest anyway, "got to watch you do that? For  _years?_ "

 

Waverly sighs, letting her head fall back again. She pulls her free leg away, giving you space to settle between her knees. You kiss the top of one of them and feel her foot twitch in your hand. "I was a competitive cheerleader," she says to the ceiling. 

 

It makes you pause. "What?"

 

"I used to do that at competitions," she says. She raises her head, smirking at you. "Televised competitions. That got  _thousands_ of viewers." The twinkle in Waverly's eye as she says it is positively  _devious_.

 

You narrow your eyes over a smile, and Waverly lets out a tiny giggle. " _Mine_ ," you growl. You don't break eye contact as you lean down and sink your teeth--roughly, but gently, always gently--into her inner thigh.

 

Waverly tosses her head back again, body arching to thrust her hips up. The moan she releases is loud and rough, as though pulled directly from her throat. It sound feral and animalistic, and it makes you want to bite into her flesh again. 

 

So you do.

 

Waverly groans again, threading her fingers into your hair and pulling. "Please," she moans, breathy. Her chest is heaving, goosebumps erupting across her skin. You drop her foot back to the ground and wrap your hands around her butt, pulling her forwards so that her hips are at the edge of the couch. You kiss the creases of her thighs and run your tongue over the skin, tasting salty flesh. "Please," she says again. " _Nicole_."

 

You kiss over her labia, suckling the skin gently but never dipping inside. She lets out breathy whimpers and tightens her hold on your hair. You press your palms against her thighs and push, holding them apart and against the couch so she can't thrust her hips again. 

 

Finally, you dip your tongue inside to the softer flesh, running up the length of her. Waverly's whole body arches, savoring, as you run circles around her clit before pulling it into your mouth. You chance a glance up to her face and you see her jaw's dropped, her mouth open in a silent scream, and her eyes squeezed shut. You hum against her watch her eyes fly open at the sensation, the vibration of your voice against her nerves. 

 

" _Nicole_ ," she grunts, again. 

 

You pull away with a _pop!_ , you lips wet and in an  _o_ shape. You lick your lips and taste  _Waverly_. "What's up, baby?"

 

" _Shit_ ," she says on an exhale. She's breathing heavily, deep and fast, and you can see the thrum of her pulse in her neck. "Please," she begs. "Don't  _stop_."

 

You smirk and bend to press a closed-mouth kiss right over her clit. "I promise," you say. Your lower lip brushes against her, and as you speak, you blow hot air right over her sensitive nerves.  You watch the skin jump and twitch. "I won't."

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

You pull Waverly's hips so that they're at the very edge of the couch cushions. Your shoulders fit perfectly between her thighs and keep them gloriously spread, and you  _finally_ bend to Waverly's pleading and give her what she wants.

 

One of your hands rests on her hip, fingers pressing into Waverly's soft flesh, and your other hand inches up her side slowly, over her ribcage to rest on her breast. She groans when she feels your palm rub against her nipple and your fingers massage.

 

Waverly's threaded her fingers into your hair, pressing you roughly against her. Her fingernails scratch against your scalp, a gloriously sharp sting that burns in the best possible way. When your tongue presses against a particularly sensitive spot, she jumps and her fingers tug, the roots of your hair screaming against the strain. And it hurts so  _good_.

 

Waverly's hips jolt and shift and you read the movement for what it is, that Waverly needs  _more_. You pull your hand away from her chest and pull your lips from where they're wrapped around her clit to suck your forefinger into your mouth and wet it.

 

Waverly feels the loss and whines, a high keening sound pulled from her chest, and she raises her head curiously to see what you're doing. You meet her eyes with a heavy, hot stare as you pull your finger from your mouth slowly with a  _pop_. You circle her entrance lightly with the tip of your wet finger, still looking her in the eyes. 

 

"Okay?" you ask. Because this has been hot and sexy and fun, but you'll never do anything to Waverly's body without being  _certain_ that's what she wants from you. 

 

She smiles warmly down at you, the façade of pure fire melting into adoration for a fraction of a second, before she groans. " _Yes_ ," she husks, "yes,  _please_."

 

You go slowly--because the female body is fragile and nobody likes to be  _rammed_ like they show in porn and you'll be  _damned_ if anything you do hurts Waverly--inserting and pulling out and inserting a fraction of an inch more. You feel the muscles and flesh inside Waverly grip and ripple against your finger, and you go even  _slower_ because Waverly is beautiful when she's lost in pleasure and you like teasing it out of her. 

 

"Nicole,  _please_ ," she begs again. She's released your head from one of her hand and tangled it in her own hair, and she looks like the picture of a desperate, sexy woman. 

 

Your finger is inside Waverly to the knuckle when you feel the flesh turn spongey against it and you press there, and Waverly's body  _seizes_. 

 

You were never the biggest fan of penetration, preferring clitoral stimulation a lot more, but Waverly loves when you're inside her and  _hell_ if that's not the sexiest thing you've ever seen. You start to pulse your finger inside her, feeling her body adjust around you, and with every thrust Waverly whimpers, a tiny noise that you're not sure she realizes she's making. Her hips start to move again, and you recognize again that she needs more--she's nothing if not consistent with her body's signals to you, and you're learning how to read them faster and faster as time goes on--and you pull back and begin to adjust her to a second finger.

 

She groans, loud and low and deep. " _Oh my god,_ " she says, eyes closed and head tossed back. Her chest is heaving, a flush spreading over her chest and cheeks, and she sucks her lower lip into her mouth and bites down on it. "Please,  _more_."

 

You grin and let your lower lip graze her clit. "I've got you, baby," you murmur, words coming out of your mouth in a hot stream of air against her sensitive nerves. 

 

You release Waverly's hip and lean your shoulder more heavily against her thigh, reaching up to pull her fingers from your hair. You press her wrist against her own thigh and _push_ , pinning it there. You know that Waverly gets insanely turned on when you show her how physically strong you are, when she has to press and push and fight against you in the throws of passion, and even more when she  _fails_.

 

You're rewarded for this particular movement when Waverly tries to move her wrist and your grip tightens and she growls, low and feral. "You don't want me to move, hm?" she asks breathily, chest heaving.

 

You smirk up at her, the tip of your tongue sneaking out to flick against her clit lightly. She whimpers, biting down on her lip in an attempt to keep the sound from fully escaping. "Be a good girl, baby," you say, eyes and smile in a wicked smirk, "and let me do what I want with you. Okay?"

 

Waverly's other hand falls from her hair onto the couch, and she grips the fabric tightly. "I'm yours," she murmurs.

 

It's beautiful and sweet and your heart aches with the knowledge that she trusts you implicitly. She's looking at you like you're the greatest thing she's ever seen and you want her to know you feel lucky to be there.

 

You don't think words will ever do justice to how much you feel for Waverly, so you try to tell her with your body.

 

You release her wrist and lace your fingers together, pressing your palm against her thigh. You suck her clit into your mouth, firmly but gently, closing your eyes to focus on the feeling of it all. Your fingers pick up their pace again inside of her, scissoring and pressing against her muscles and feeling for that magic spot inside. Waverly's body stretches to accommodate the movement, her abs clenching and unclenching above you. 

 

Before you and Waverly started having sex, she'd ask you what it was like to perform oral sex on another woman. She'd said she'd researched it--and you'd laughed, shocked and joyous, because Waverly's adorable and  _of course_ she researched how to have sex with you--and then she told you Champ had never wanted to put his mouth on her because it didn't smell or taste good, and the anger that flared in your chest at that, you think, was justified. You'd looked at Waverly heavily in the eyes and said that when you two have sex, when you're ready, it'll smell and look and taste and feel beautiful, and she'd beamed at you, smile bright as the sun.

 

Now, with your face and mouth between Waverly's legs and her body gloriously responding to you, you don't think you did it justice back then, how stunning passion looks on Waverly's body. You don't think that words will  _ever_ do it justice. 

 

Her body begins to tighten. You feel it in the muscles of her thighs first, pressing inward against your shoulder and palm. Her abs contract and pull her into an arch towards you, and her hips begin to shift spasmodically. Her groans and whimpers and gasps get louder and shorter, and when you open your eyes to look at her face, you see her brow furrowed in anticipation. "Nic," she gasps, because her body, you know, won't let her get out your whole name. "I'm--"

 

She trails off and you hum against her. You want to respond, pull away and reassure her  _I've got you, baby_ and  _it's okay, you can let go_ but you don't want to stop and you know that she knows. So you redouble your efforts, speeding and tightening your circles around her clit and your thrusts inside of her. 

 

When Waverly comes, it's a prolonged, suspended moment. Her body freezes so that every muscle fiber is active and taught, her jaw falling slack and her brow twitching with the effort. Her toes curl against the floor and fingers squeeze against yours. It's soundless--Waverly never makes noise when she orgasms--save for the groaning gasp she lets out when her body begins to relax. You challenge yourself when you're able to, trying to prolong her orgasm as much as possible. Your fingers move together and apart, swiveling inside of her still, and your tongue moves over her clit, only softening against it when Waverly's body begins to loosen and relax.

 

She always, _always_ smiles after she comes, and you think it's your favorite part about sex with Waverly--besides the  _actual_ sex part, of course. Her face tells you that she liked it before you have time to question it, and as she closes her mouth, that muscle that you love in her jaw flexes and you feel your spine tremble in response.

 

Waverly's thighs quake in the aftershocks of her orgasm, and she twitches against you with a groan as you gently pull your fingers from inside of her. You soften your lips and place a feather-light kiss against her clit and she squeals, sensitive. You finally rise from the floor next to the couch and settle beside Waverly, pulling her boneless body against yours. Waverly accepts it with a sigh and leans her head against your arm, straining her neck to look at your face. Her eyes are heavy and lidded and glazed, and she looks beautifully sated. 

 

When you suck your fingers into your mouth to taste Waverly again, her pupils dilate. The amber rings around them glow and her smile turns feral instantly. 

 

She looks at you like prey and your body is vibrating with need as Waverly shifts, slow like a panther, and coils, ready to pounce. 

 

 

 


End file.
